


So Maybe I Sleep Better With You in My Arms (So Maybe That's Okay)

by ShipperInParadise



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25743379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperInParadise/pseuds/ShipperInParadise
Summary: It was common knowledge that no one, under any circumstances, should ever sleep beside Bahorel. The man was a notoriously restless sleeper. Well. No. That wasn’t quite right. Bahorel was notoriously restless in every aspect of his life, and that just happened to include sleeping. The poor soul who tried to share a bed or a couch with him was likely to end up being suffocated by a 200 pound sleeping giant rolling over and crushing their windpipe. Jehan had found that out the hard way a few years ago, and from that point on it had been well understood by everyone in the group that sleeping Bahorel was not someone to get close to. Or, rather, almost everyone in the group.Feuilly, it seemed, had somehow missed the memo.
Relationships: Bahorel/Feuilly (Les Misérables), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	So Maybe I Sleep Better With You in My Arms (So Maybe That's Okay)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't see enough work for this pairing, so I figured I'd make some of my own. Enjoy the fluff!

It wasn’t uncommon for Joly to wake up early on a Sunday morning, kiss Bossuet and Musichetta gently on the forehead, and stumble out into a living room packed full of sleeping Amis on his search for coffee. In all honesty, it was a rarity for a Saturday movie night to end in anything but a sleepover. With the exception of Combeferre and Enjolras, both of whom had been booed on multiple occasions for their ‘boring, boring choices’, everyone was always too drunk by the end of the night to drive, and the last train of the night had almost always come and gone. It was just easier for everyone to crash in the living room. And besides, it wasn't like Joly, Bossuet, or Musichetta cared. They would all much prefer their friends asleep on their floor than dead in a wreck somewhere. So, it had become somewhat of a routine by this point; Everyone would come over, get drunk to some stupid movie (or two, or three, or- Jesus Christ, no, Courfeyrac, we are not watching the entire Harry Potter series!), someone would order a pizza, and everyone would sleep over until Sunday morning. Or afternoon. But, hey, that was just the routine.

So, seeing as said routine had been established over a long few years, it was common knowledge that no one, under any circumstances, should ever sleep beside Bahorel. The man was a notoriously restless sleeper. Well. No. That wasn’t quite right. Bahorel was notoriously restless in every aspect of his life, and that just happened to include sleeping. The poor soul who tried to share a bed or a couch with him was likely to end up being suffocated by a 200 pound sleeping giant rolling over and crushing their windpipe. Jehan had found that out the hard way a few years ago, and from that point on it had been well understood by everyone in the group that sleeping Bahorel was not someone to get close to. Or, rather, almost everyone in the group.

Feuilly, it seemed, had somehow missed the memo. More often than not, he didn’t sleep over. But, on the rare occasion that he didn’t have to leave for a night shift, or head home early to try and catch a few decent hours of sleep before work in the morning, the man would flop down beside Bahorel, wherever he happened to be sprawled for the night, and snuggle into his side. He would rest his head on one of his broad shoulders, and curl up against him. And Bahorel? Well. The nights when Feuilly slept beside him were the only moments when he was well and truly still.

The first time it had happened, everyone had stared at Feuilly like he was crazy. “It seems our darling friend has a death wish,” Grantaire had joked, but Feuilly had only shrugged and snuggled closer. Even Bahorel was looking at him with wide, slightly shocked eyes, but that seemed to do little to deter him, either. As everyone else drifted off to sleep, he half expected him to get up and move. But the hours ticked on, and they remained just as close. And if Bahorel wrapped his arm around Feuilly and pulled him a bit closer as he slept, well, no one needed to know about that.

\--------------------

It was one of those Saturdays once more, and the pizza portion of the night was well underway. Courfeyrac had draped himself rather dramatically over Combeferre’s lap, and was lamenting about the injustices of genetics. “You see, it just isn’t fair,” he whined. “Why does Enjy get to be blond and I don’t? Blondes have more fun and he isn’t even USING it.” Across the room, Enjolras was looking at Courfeyrac like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh, or scoff, or roll his eyes and leave. “I would use it, Ferre. You know I would. I would have ALL the fun.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Combeferre ran a hand through Courfeyrac’s hair placatingly, before turning to Joly and saying, “I think I’m going to take our unhappily not blond friend home.”

Enjolras stood. “I think the blond friend is heading home, too.” The look on Grantaire’s face was downright miserable at the announcement, but everyone else knew better than to comment. With Courfeyrac clinging to Combeferre’s side, the trio bid everyone a good night and headed on their way.

It wasn’t long before Bossuet was yawning, and leaning on Musichetta’s shoulder with a sleepy expression. The pair excused themselves not long after. Joly gave them a warm smile as they went, promising that he wouldn’t be long. In the armchair next to him, Grantaire was still pouting.

Bahorel checked his phone, and noted that it had soared past “late” and into “why are any of us still awake” without any of them realizing. “Dude? Not to interrupt your post-Enjolras sulking or anything,” Grantaire flipped him off with a glare, “but don’t you have an interview in like…” he checked his phone again, “three hours?”

A look of recognition dawned on Grantaire’s face. He stumbled out of his chair, a string of curses on his lips. “Of course I fucking forgot. Count on me to forget the most fucking important interview of my fucking career. Fucking fucking fuck!” He yanked his shoes on with more force than was probably necessary, all the while glaring like somebody had shot his cat.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, love. You still have plenty of time.” Jehan rose from the couch, and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. They weren’t really sober, but at least more so than Grantaire. “I’ll walk you home. And then I’ll help you pick out a tie, okay?”

Grantaire seemed to deflate, at least a bit, and he nodded. “Fine.”

“Good.” Jehan fixed him with one of the kind, disarming smiles that only they could manage, and linked their arm through his. “Goodnight, everybody. Sleep well.”

“Text us when you get home,” Feuilly said, and Bahorel honest to God startled. He hadn’t forgotten he was there, of course not, he wasn’t capable of that, but Feuilly had been so quiet for the past hour or so that hearing him speak suddenly had caught him off guard.

Jehan promised that they would, and, together with Grantaire, headed out. Silence filled the room for a moment, only broken by Joly when he said, “Well, this is weird.” There were only three of them remaining, which was something practically unheard of. “You guys staying?”

Bahorel glanced over towards Feuilly. “I mean, I was planning on it.” He gave him a clear ‘You?’ tilt of the head.

Feuilly responded silently to Bahorel’s little head tilt with a small nod. “Same here. If that’s still okay?” He directed the question to Joly, who waved him off instantly.

“Course.” He stretched as he stood up. “Just keep it down when you fight each other for the couch.” He gave Bahorel, who had been seated beside him, a little pat on the shoulder as he passed. Leaning in, he not-so-subtly whispered, “My money’s on you.”

Bahorel laughed, and gently pushed him towards his bedroom. “Night, Jolllly.” Joly grinned, and disappeared into his room.

Left alone, a comfortable silence surrounded the pair. They were perfectly used to moments like this, where there was nothing to say and yet they still enjoyed the other’s company. It was nice. It was familiar.

Eventually, Bahorel turned to him and joked, “So, how ‘bout that fight for the couch?” Feuilly laughed, and shook his head.

“I’d lose,” he said, plainly, and Bahorel just grinned. It was true, and they both knew it.

“Eh. Maybe I’d go easy on you?”

The look on Feuilly’s face was doubtful. “I don’t think you’ve ever gone easy on anyone in their life.”

With a laugh, he shrugged. “Maybe not. But hey. I’m full of surprises.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Feuilly rolled his eyes fondly.

“Good night, Baz.” He smiled at him, warm and genuine, before curling up in his recliner.

“Yeah. Night.” It was strange. Bahorel knew that, usually, they crowded far too many people into a far too small space. It made sense that Feuilly would sleep close; there was nowhere else for him to sleep. So, now that they were the only ones there, it also made sense for him to sleep in his own space. But, for some reason he couldn’t identify (or maybe didn’t want to), Bahorel felt a longing ache in his chest. Saturday nights where Feuilly snuggled into his side had come to be something he looked forward to. Waking up on Sunday morning with the other man nuzzled into the crook of his neck always sent a warm, fond feeling through him. (Again, something he didn’t want to identify.)

A ping from someone’s phone brought him out of his thoughts. He reached for his phone to check, but Feuilly shook his head. “It’s Jehan,” he said, his own phone already in hand. “They made it back to Grantaire’s place all in one piece.”

“A miracle,” Bahorel joked, earning a small chuckle from across the room. It made him smile slightly.

Not much else was said between the two. Bahorel fell asleep quickly, no doubt from a combination of the late hour and the copious amounts of alcohol he had ingested. He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep, but it seemed that one moment he was dozing off, and the next Feuilly was shaking him awake. “Baz. Baz! Bahorel!”

“Wha..?” he blinked awake, eyes not quite focusing on the face in front of him.

“You were having a nightmare.” As he came more into focus, Bahorel realized that Feuilly’s face was creased with worry.

A nightmare? No, that wasn’t right. Bahorel didn’t have nightmares. He didn’t have dreams in general, really. And besides, he’d felt like he was sleeping perfectly fine. “..I was?” He sat up, confused.

“You were muttering things in your sleep,” Feuilly explained, still looking worried. “And you, like, wouldn’t stop moving. I’ve never seen you like that before.”

And oh. Everything made sense all at once. “No, Feui, I wasn’t..” He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up enough to explain with some semblance of sense. “That’s just how I sleep.”

Feuilly shook his head insistently. “I’ve slept next to you. I’ve never seen you do that before.”

Bahorel blushed darkly. He had planned on keeping this hidden, but it seemed as though that plan wasn’t going to work out as well as he’d hoped. “Yeah, I, uh.. I don’t do that with you. Don’t know why.” He was peaceful with Feuilly in a way that he had never been with anyone else.

“..oh.” Now it was Feuilly’s turn to blush. Bahorel thought resentfully that he had no right to look as attractive as he did. “I- oh. I’m.. I’m sorry for waking you up, then.” He looked truly embarrassed, and Bahorel quickly shook his head.

“Nah, its good. You didn’t know.”

“I guess.” He shrugged, and stepped away from the couch. “Goodnight, then.”  
Bahorel wished he would stay. He didn’t say so, though. “Yeah. Night,” he said, instead, and laid back down. He heard Feuilly settle into his recliner again, and then silence.

For the longest time, it remained like that. But, then, “That can’t be good for you.”

“Huh?” Bahorel turned his towards Feuilly in the dark, though he was far enough away that it was useless.

“Being that.. I don’t know, fitful? It can’t be good for you. You’re probably not getting any REM sleep.”

Bahorel was pretty sure he had never heard anyone but a doctor use the term ‘REM sleep’ before, nor was he entirely sure what it meant. “I mean.. I guess?”

The chair creaked, indicating that Feuilly had sat up. “I just mean that your sleep probably isn’t good. You’ve gotta be tired.”

Bahorel opened his mouth to say something, but closed it slowly without a word. He was tired. He was tired almost all the time. The only times when he wasn’t tired were… well… Sunday’s after a movie night with Les Amis. Sunday’s after he had spent the night with Feuilly tucked under his arm. “...you think that’s why?” he eventually asked.

“Maybe.” There was a pause. “It would make sense.”

He considered that for a long moment. There was undeniably a pattern. Bahorel had never thought about it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. “Damn.” It was all he could think to say. “That’s crazy.”

Across the room, Feuilly was quiet. Bahorel could practically feel the uncertainty coming from him. “You good?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m just… Do you maybe want me to come over there? See if it helps?”

Bahorel’s heart shouldn’t have fluttered the way it did. He was a grown man, and it was ridiculous. But he couldn’t deny that he absolutely, 100% wanted Feuilly to come over. “I mean.. If you want to.”

He received no verbal answer, but he could hear the chair creak again, and then socked feet padding across the carpet. Feuilly gently pushed him to make more room, and a moment later climbed onto the couch to join him. Bahorel could smell the cheap beer he’d been drinking, and the cigarettes he claimed not to smoke (but, really, everyone knew better). “Hi,” Bahorel murmured, voice soft in the closeness.

  
“Hi,” he mirrored, as he situated himself beside him. He snuggled close, and rested his head on Bahorel’s chest. Everywhere their bodies touched felt delightfully warm.

Gently, Bahorel wrapped an arm around Feuilly’s shoulders. He pulled him in closer, his hand settling firmly on his back “This okay?” he hazarded. He had never asked any of the other times they had done this, but somehow this felt different.

Feuilly hummed in agreement, eyes falling shut. Bahorel could feel the way his breath fell, low and even. “Night, Baz,” he whispered.

“Goodnight.” Bahorel continued to hold him close as they both drifted off. It was the most peacefully he had slept in a while.

\----------------------------

Bahorel was woken the next morning to a surprised sounding gasp. He opened his eyes to find Joly standing in his doorway, clad only in a robe, and staring at Bahorel in shock. He blinked at him groggily, trying to determine why on Earth he was looking at him like that, and it hit him all at once. Last night. He and Feuilly being the only ones to stay. The ‘nightmare.’ Feuilly offering to join him. And, of course, they were still tangled up in eachother. With no real necessity or reason. Beside him, nose pressed into his neck, was a sleeping Feuilly. No wonder Joly looked like that.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck on my couch,” Joly said, and it was Bahorel’s turn to gasp.

“Dude, what the fuck?” He shook his head vehemently. “No. Of course not. We just…” He trailed off, realizing that he wasn’t sure how exactly to explain it. “...it’s a long story.”

“Right.” Joly yawned, and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just gonna..” He gestured towards the kitchen.

“Yeah. Cool.” He was grateful to change the topic. “Pour me a cup?”

Joly nodded as he made his way past. “He want one?”

Bahorel looked down at the sleeping man in his arms. He looked so peaceful that to wake him, even for coffee, would have felt wrong. “I’m gonna let him sleep,” he told him. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair out of Feuilly’s eyes. His nose twitched, but he didn’t wake. That warm feeling that Bahorel always tried to ignore rushed through him.

When the coffee was done, Joly poured both himself and Bahorel a cup. He brought Bahorel’s to him, which earned him a grateful smile. “I’ll be in there if you need me, yeah?” he said, nodding back towards his room.

“Yeah,” Bahorel repeated. “Thanks, Jol.”

“No problem." With that, he disappeared back into his room.

Bahorel drank his coffee in silence, watching the way Feuilly’s eyelashes fluttered with every breath. It was horribly endearing. Surely, he shouldn’t be allowed to look so adorable when he slept. Bahorel felt the urge to reach out and gently touch his face. Needless to say, he stuffed that urge in the back of his head and pretended it hadn’t been there.

Eventually, a while after he had finished his coffee, Feuilly’s eyes opened. “Baz?” he murmured, looking up at him.

“Morning,” Bahorel said, unable to keep the fond smile off his face. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” He yawned, but didn’t sit up. In fact, he didn’t move at all. He still looked half asleep. “You?”

Bahorel nodded. “Yeah. Really well, actually. Thank you.”

Feuilly smiled, looking satisfied with the answer. His eyes fell shut again. “Good.” Sleepily, he stretched. “You’re warm..”

Bahorel had absolutely no idea what to say to that. His cheeks flushed a dark red, and his heart sped up slightly.

“It’s nice,” Feuilly added, which definitely didn’t help. His voice was low and slurred with sleep. “You’re always warm.” This wasn't fair. Feuilly had to be able to feel the way Bahorel's heart was pounding, right? He had to know the effect his words were having on him. Clearly not. Because, to top it all off, he mumbled, "I like the way you hold me," against his neck. Bahorel was pretty sure he was going to have a stroke.

"Feui…" He breathed, eyes wide. His hands weren't trembling. They weren't. Except that they were, and so was his bottom lip, because Feuilly was saying things that made it absolutely impossible to ignore those warm feelings he had been pretending not to have, and fuck, he loved him. He loved him. He loved him and it was so obvious that no matter how much he tried there was no way Bahorel was going to be able to shove those thoughts into the back of his head anymore. He loved him. He loves him. Fuck.

Feuilly could clearly sense that something had shifted, something was wrong, because he opened his eyes properly and frowned. "Baz? Are you okay?"

"I love you," Bahorel blurted, before he could stop himself.

Feuilly's brows furrowed. "Yeah? I know? I love you, too, man," he said, and Bahorel wanted to die. This really wasn't fair. He shouldn't have to say it, shouldn't have to clarify.

"No. I- Feuilly. I love you." He reached out and took Feuilly's hands, though his own were shaking. If he didn't get the message, Bahorel was pretty sure he'd die.

For a moment, Feuilly's face was blank. Then, slowly, the realization appeared. "Oh," he whispered, eyes wide. "You do?"

Bahorel only nodded weakly.

"Oh." There was something soft in his eyes that he couldn't place. "Baz.." And, suddenly, there was a pair of soft lips against his own.

Bahorel gasped; it took him a moment to realize what was happening. But, when he did, he kissed back with desperation. Feuilly was kissing him. His lips were soft, and warm, and gentle, and Bahorel didn't even care that he tasted like cigarettes. He never wanted to stop kissing him. But, it seemed he would have to stop. Feuilly pulled away after a moment, drawing a whine from Bahorel.

"You love me?" he asked, soft as anything.

"I love you," he confirmed. Their fingers were still twined together.

With a smile, Feuilly leaned in and kissed him again. It was heaven. It was perfect. Bahorel was so, completely in love. "I love you, too," he whispered against his lips. Never had there been sweeter words.  
\-----------------------------------------------

If someone had told him the night before that he would spend his Sunday morning pressing his best friend into the couch, kissing him absolutely senseless, Bahorel would have scoffed. And probably punched them, if he was being honest. But apparently miracles do happen, because Feuilly was pinned beneath him, making the most delicious whimpering sounds as Bahorel kissed him. One of his hands was tangled in his hair, the other under his shirt, and he never wanted to stop. He was allowed to touch, for the very first time, and he intended to make the most of it. He was just starting to trail his lips along Feuilly's jaw, when-

"I told you not to fuck on my couch." Bahorel scrambled up, only to stare in horror at Joly, who was leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.

"We weren't-" Feuilly began, but Joly cut him off with a shake of his head.

"Just get a room. I wanna eat my damn breakfast in peace."

The idea of taking Feuilly back to his place, laying him out on his bed, getting him out of his clothes, maybe...Bahorel wouldn't be opposed to any of it. "Well, who are we to get between a man and his breakfast?" He joked. "I think we're obligated to leave."

"Obligated, are we?" Feuilly gave him a knowing look, and all Bahorel did was grin. "Well. I suppose if we're obligated." He stood, and offered him a hand. There was a slight twinkle in his eye. "Let's go." Bahorel couldn't agree more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought! Should I post more for this pairing?


End file.
